eviternal dalliance
by ultraviolets
Summary: —the allure of something that was never meant to be • for vic • draco, harry, and wondering where the line blurs between fantasy and reality
1. unrestrained

for my darling vic — i know it's a tad belated, but happy birthday, love! you are so beautiful and talented, and i am beyond grateful to have known you and had you in my life this past year. love always, noor (and yes, this will be a multichap! it will be continued! it might take a while but it will be!)

* * *

Draco was unnerved, to say the least. He was sitting in his compartment with Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy, as per usual, the latter clinging to his arm in a rather uncomfortable manner, her hands clammy and her cheek pressed so close to Draco's that they were nearly touching. He would have felt slightly nauseous had he not been so disquieted.

As he pasted on his signature smile, with just a hint of swaggering arrogance, he tried to ignore the shallowness of his breath and the shaking of his hands. Though he prattled on incessantly about his father's recent work promotion, his eyes darted around the compartment, and his heart raced in an erratic sort of pattern. His mind was laden with darkness and turmoil, with the ink-black depths of a Vanishing Cabinet, and the ink-black smile of his aunt Bellatrix.

Shuddering, Draco let his gaze wander up for a brief moment, away from Pansy's sickeningly sweet smile, to where their trunks balanced precariously on the rack above.

There was the faintest of movements, as the bars groaned and shifted ever so slightly. Tilting his head to one side to listen more closely, Draco was able to hear a sharp intake of breath.

Someone was up there, clearly.

And he was fairly certain he knew exactly who.

* * *

"I'll meet you guys later, there's something I need to take care of," Draco said.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged skeptical glances, but a moment later they nodded and followed the crowd of students off of the train.

As soon as they were gone, Draco's carefully constructed mask fell away, leaving nothing but raw fear.

Potter knew. He had to.

Draco didn't know how, but somehow he'd figured it out and now he was going to confront him, and the entire plan would fall apart, and the Dark Lord would —

No. Draco wouldn't let it come to that.

He reached up to grab his trunk, not at all surprised by the thud that followed, an invisible body crashing to the ground.

"What, were you hoping to catch me discussing my evil schemes, Potter?" he taunted, the facade falling effortlessly back into place. "I'm afraid your plan isn't going to work."

There was something unfamiliar glittering in Harry's stunningly emerald eyes as he undid the cloak, flickering into visibility and getting to his feet. He took a step closer to Draco.

"That wasn't my plan."

Draco reached for his wand as Harry took another step. They were inches apart now, so close that Draco could make out every detail on his face — the slope of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the brilliance of those eyes . . .

But despite that fact, no amount of scrutinizing could have prepared him for what happened next.

"This was." Harry closed the distance between them, one hand reaching up to cup Draco's cheek — a movement, it should be noted, that was far more graceful than Pansy's attempts earlier — before he tipped his head forward, and his lips met Draco's.

He was pushed up against the window now, and before he could even process what was happening his hands were buried in the dark, messy tangle of Harry's hair, disheveling it even more, and his breath came in heavy gasps, and they were so close Draco couldn't tell whose heart it was that he felt the warmth of, racing and volatile and spiraling out of control. Harry's hands had wound their way around his waist as if he could pull Draco closer than he already was, and whatever fears he'd had earlier were long, long gone.

"Potter," he finally managed to say, forcing himself to pull away.

Harry didn't answer. Draco wasn't even sure what he would have wanted him to say if he did.

"This was a mistake," Draco continued finally, the words sounding off-kilter even to him. It was a brazen lie, and he knew Harry could see right through it.

But Draco turned away. Harry stammered something behind him, perhaps calling him back. His voice was heavy with emotion and guilt and hurt which sent a pang through Draco; almost sharp enough to make him turn around and try to fix this mess he'd made. Almost. But not enough.  
Because this was wrong, all wrong. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have done this, he was a fool — and Merlin's beard, why was he still standing there? He had to fix this.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, drawing his wand. He tripped over the next words, almost butchering the spell. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Draco did not hesitate as he tossed the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulder and left the train without once looking back.


	2. fabrication

Harry didn't realize he was no longer Petrified until he realized the train was moving, and he didn't even have time to process what had just happened — what he had just done — before the panic set in.

He was en route back to _London._

He had just kissed _Draco Malfoy._

He did not know which event was more jarring.

A few long moments later, once his limbs had regained feeling, he stood on the edge of the moving train, whispering " _Molliare!"_

It was as he nimbly leapt onto the platform that the realization hit him — most shocking of all was that Draco Malfoy had kissed him back.

Harry almost closed his eyes, remembering how it had felt — Draco's lips against his, hands in his hair — when an airy voice cut through the air.

"The Nargles — they're everywhere."

"Hello, Luna," Harry said, trying to clear his head. He didn't want her to know that what was clouding his mind was far, far from Nargles.

"Hello, Harry. Trying to go back to London, I presume?"

Harry shook his head sheepishly. "Not . . . on purpose. I just . . ." _was Petrified by the boy I kissed._

"— Lost track of time."

"That's unfortunate," Luna replied, pushing her kaleidoscope glasses — Harry could not for the life of him remember what they were called — up into her mane of blonde hair. "Well, we should be going then. I would hate to miss the feast."

"Er, what happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing. I just could have sworn I saw piskies on the train, and I thought why not look and see, and before I knew it . . ." Luna paused, pink lips quirking into a smile, "well, you know the rest. Here we are."

Harry bit his lip to keep from asking more questions (if she were to reciprocate, after all, he had no idea _what_ outrageous lies he would have to conjure up), and instead followed her towards the school, waving an absent goodbye as they slipped unnoticed into the Great Hall.

As he found his place in the empty seat Ron and Hermione had saved, Harry tried his very best to ignore the looks he was getting. Though it was evident he was going to have to think of something to say soon, as Hermione cleared her throat for the umpteenth time and Ron dug his elbow rather painfully into Harry's side.

"Oi, where were you?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, spearing a potato on his fork and taking a large bite so he wouldn't have to answer.

Hermione arched a brow, peering thoughtfully at him over her dinner roll. "Oh, it's quite obvious, isn't it?" she mused, pointing the butter knife in Harry's direction.

He nearly choked on the potato. That knife looked a _lot_ more threatening than it probably should have.

"He was with a girl, Ron," Hermione finished. "I mean, look at him. He's definitely been snogging _someone."_

A slow, sly grin spread across Ron's face. "So," he leaned in. "Who was it? Luna? I saw you two walk in together. . ."

There was a muffled, strangled sort of sound from across the table. Harry frowned, eyes darting in that direction and landing on Ginny, face slightly pink as she poured herself some more water and drank it before taking another forkful of salad. _Oh._

Well, Harry had always known Ginny had a thing for him (not that Ron ever let him say or do anything about the matter), but well, he hadn't ever expected a reaction. And especially not after he had just kissed someone else not even half an hour ago. Certainly not when that someone else had been Draco Malfoy.

He didn't realize he'd been staring right at Ginny until she offered him a small smile back, and Harry quickly averted his gaze.

"Oh, Merlin, you really are a mess, aren't you, Harry?" Hermione said, sighing as she watched the exchange.

Harry just shook his head. "You have no idea," he replied jovially, hiding the meaning behind a well-placed laugh.

Thankfully, Ron had been too focused on the arrival of the pudding to notice anything.

Harry's head was still spinning, so he decided against the treacle tart today, instead turning to look for Draco at the Slytherin table.

Subtly, of course.

Or, he _thought_ it was subtle until Draco caught his eye and choked on his plum pudding, and Pansy cast a suspicious glance in Harry's direction, and Ginny's gaze seemed to bore through him as her brows knit in confusion.

Harry smiled sheepishly at her.

Ron poked his arm with a dessert fork. "If it was Ginny you were . . . " he paused, gesturing with the fork, "just tell me. I really won't mind."

Harry didn't reply, instead tearing at a piece of bread with his teeth and chewing slowly, offering a only a muffled, "Mhm," in reply.

Ron dug his elbow further into Harry's side, undoubtedly about to offer what was sure to be another snide comment — when he was interrupted by the beginning of Dumbledore's speech.

Grateful for an excuse to not have to answer any more questions, Harry paid rapt attention.

It was a shame, though, that this was the moment he chose to look away, for he missed the fact that a pair of forlornly grey eyes had been trained on him.


	3. fanciful

Draco was sitting in the Slytherin dungeons, staring at his hands rather blankly. The same hands that had been wound in Potter's hair on the train, the same ones that now, shook uncontrollably. Even when he tried to stop the tremors, he could not do so.

He settled for shoving them into his robe pockets, and praying that if any of his friends saw, they would chalk it up to nervousness about the Vanishing Cabinet. Because, he realized with a jolt, that was what he was _supposed_ to be thinking about.

"Are you okay?" Pansy cooed, striding over to the chair where Draco sat and tucking herself up beside him.

"I'm fine," Draco replied through gritted teeth.

Pansy laughed; it was an ingenuine sound, forcing an air of loveliness she did not seem to possess. "You're a terrible liar, Draco."

Her voice dropped, and it was a low whisper when she spoke again. "You can tell me what's wrong, you know that?"

He really couldn't though. But to keep up the ruse, he offered her a slight smile, forcing his lips to quirk upwards on one side. "It's the Dark Lord," he whispered.

Her eyebrows shot upwards, and she peered up at him, dark eyes curious.

"He's asked something terrible—great, but terrible—of me," Draco continued, drawing out his words, partly to add suspense, and partly to think of what exactly he should be telling her.

"Oh," Pansy breathed. "Draco, I'm so sorry—what is it?"

"What?" Draco asked, frowning, eyes distant, mind absent.

"What did he ask of you?" Pansy repeated. He saw the worry in her eyes grow as the distraction in his did the same.

"I—" Draco paused. He put on quite the show of fighting with himself (it was rather easy—the underlying feelings were already there, after all) before finishing. "I cannot say. It could compromise everything."

He did not realize his hands were no longer tucked away in his pockets until he registered that Pansy had taken them, running her thumb in smooth, gentle circles over his palm.

Draco resisted the urge to recoil. He swallowed hard, pasting on a smile for her. "I'll be alright, though."

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. "Again, Draco, you are an absolutely terrible liar," she murmured.

All Draco could think about was that she was so close, far too close. The smell of her hair was some sickly sweet combination of fruit and flowers that he could not pinpoint. It made his head rush in all the wrong ways; it was nearly suffocating.

He stood up from the chair abruptly.

Hurt flickered across Pansy's face.

"I just need a bit of fresh air," he said. And though he kicked himself internally for it, he offered his arm towards her. "Care to join me?"

She looped her arm through his, already starting to tug him towards the door. "Of course."

They tiptoed up to the Astronomy tower, Pansy's giggling almost making Draco retch.

"Feeling better?" she asked, so close her lips brushed against his ear, once they were out on the observatory deck.

The cool night air _did_ help clear his head a bit, but the fact that Pansy had once again taken his hand undid that. It was odd, really— _this_ was supposed to feel right. This was how it should be, how the universe had decreed it. Draco, up here with Pansy, beneath a starlit sky. This was proper, this was _right._

But then why was his mind still somewhere else? Why was his heart still back on the Hogwarts Express, trained on something that should have _never_ happened, on something so terribly wrong? He forced himself to take a breath; he was beginning to see spots.

"Draco . . ." Pansy said.

He started, bringing his gaze back down to earth, to where Pansy's imploring frown greeted him.

As Pansy turned towards him, face bathed in ethereal silver, as she leaned closer, and Draco realized what was about to happen—he offered no resistance as she pulled him into a kiss.

She was on her toes slightly, hands looped around his neck, eyes closed.

Draco's were wide open, looking for a pair of green eyes that were nowhere to be found.

* * *

"Filch caught Draco and Pansy snogging on the Astronomy Tower last night," Lavender Brown, always so attuned to gossip, whispered in a scandalized tone on the walk to Potions the next morning.

Harry nearly dropped his bag, eyes widening.

Ron cast him a look.

He recovered quickly. "It was a cover, Ron. It had to be. He was probably just doing—whatever Voldemort asked him to." Of course, that wasn't the only reason he was so concerned with Draco's whereabouts last night.

"I dunno, mate. Him and Pansy have always been awfully close," Ron replied nonchalantly, starting down the stairs into the Potions dungeon.

"Really?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Honestly, Harry," Ron replied, "I think you're looking too far into it. Hey, don't we have that new Potions professor for the first time today? Slughorn, wasn't it?"

Harry honestly couldn't care less about Professor Slughorn right now, despite what Dumbledore had told him before the school year had begun. He was debating whether or not to ask Lavender _where_ exactly she'd procured that information when Slughorn began the lesson.

"See? He's in class," Ron whispered to him halfway through Slughorn's spiel, pointing towards Draco in the corner of the classroom.

Harry was far too pleased to see Pansy sitting farther, a few seats down.


	4. osculation

A tawny owl—a school bird, Harry was sure of it—deposited a letter on his plate at breakfast the next morning. Inconspicuous and seemingly irrelevant, the parchment wasn't even in an envelope. It was folded and creased unevenly, yellowed corners crinkled and dotted with stray ink marks.

"What's that?" Ron asked around a mouthful of toast. There was a smudge of jam on the corner of his mouth, and Harry took a moment to point it out, using his friend's distracted search for a napkin as an opportunity to unfold the parchment.

 _Astronomy tower. Midnight._

It was not signed off, but that scrawl was unmistakable. Harry felt his cheeks burn what was sure to be a brilliant shade of crimson, quickly stuffing the parchment into the pocket of his robes. He felt the paper crumple in his tightly-closed fist, though it didn't matter at this point. He'd already read it, after all.

"Still there?" Ron asked, turning back to face him.

"Er—what? Is what still there?" Harry blinked.

"The jam. You said it was. . . are you okay? Your face is kind of red."

"I'm fine," Harry replied a bit too quickly. "The jam's gone," he added a moment later with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Ron didn't look convinced, but he'd never been one to press. Harry was just thankful Hermione was too absorbed in her Arithmancy textbook to follow this conversation. As Ron turned to Dean Thomas and struck up a conversation about the last Quidditch match,—Ravenclaw versus Slytherin, apparently it had been absolutely riveting—Harry pulled out the letter again, tracing his fingers over the writing.

 _Astronomy tower. Midnight._

Midnight could not come soon enough.

* * *

" _Harry."_ Hermione's tone was annoyed, bordering on irate. She snapped her fingers crisply in front of Harry's face and he tried to remember where he was and what was happening.

"Hm?" was all he managed to say, oh-so-eloquently.

"Have you even been listening to the lecture?" she asked, heaving an exasperated sigh. She rolled her eyes, pulling Harry's textbook towards her across the table. "You're not even on the right page. Merlin, if you would just stop thinking about Draco—"

" _What?"_ Harry exclaimed, voice about an octave higher than it should have been. "I am _not—"_

"Oh, please, don't even try that," Hermione said, rolling her eyes yet again. "You're practically obsessed with him, and your—completely unfounded, if you ask me, _honestly—_ theory that he's a spy for Voldemort."

"Oh. Right." Harry bit his lip to keep from exhaling with relief. "That. Yes, of course, well, I wouldn't say it is a _completely_ unfounded theory, I mean, look at how suspicious he's been acting; don't tell me something's not happening there," he rambled, quickly trying to recover.

Hermione leveled him with a look. "Maybe if you put as much energy into this essay as you did into your conspiracies we'd actually have gotten some work done."

"Sorry, 'Mione. We can finish it tonight." Tonight. But tonight, at midnight, Harry had to be at the Astronomy tower.

"Alright," Hermione finally lamented. "But you'd better pull your weight." She sighed, tugging at one of her curls before adding an offhand, "I should've worked with Parvati or something instead."

Harry didn't even have anything to say to defend himself.

* * *

It was approximately eleven-fifty in the evening when Harry finally finished that goddamn essay. Blessedly, Hermione was so exhausted by that point that the moment it was done she retreated up to the girls dormitories, bidding him a very sleepy and slightly slurred, "G'night, Harry."

The moment she was gone, Harry grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, tugging it on. He slipped out of the Gryffindor common room virtually unnoticed, almost tripping over the winding staircase in his rush to get to the Astronomy tower.

It was empty when he arrived, much to his dismay. He tugged at the edges of the cloak, filled with a sort of nervous energy. Had this all been a trick? Draco _would_ do this to him, the absolute _git,_ he _would_ plant a fake letter and then send a professor up to find him—

"Potter, you realize the powers of that cloak are rendered useless when you insist upon breathing louder than a dragon," came the now all-too-familiar drawl, interrupting his thoughts.

Harry's breath caught. "Malfoy," was his curt response as he unfastened the cloak, letting it fall away from where it had been wrapped around his shoulders. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here, _Potter,_ where else would I be? Fraternizing with the Dark Lord? Lovely ruse you've come up with to explain—" he vaguely waved a hand, "—whatever this is." Harry could not tell if he was being sincere or not.

He did not have time to ponder it, though, before Draco took a step towards him, closing the distance between them.

* * *

"What _is_ this, Draco?" Potter finally found the courage to say. _What are we?_ was the real question, however, and though it was not said aloud, they both knew it.

"What do you want it to be? You started this whole charade on the train, remember?" Of course Draco remembered; it was a moment he kept going back to revisit. A moment he was trying to recreate right now after the disastrous kiss with Pansey the other night.

"I don't know, Draco. I'm—Don't you hate me?"

God, he was _such_ an idiot.

"I wouldn't have kissed you back if I hated you," the words tumbled out unchecked and Draco sucked in a sharp breath, biting his lip. He shouldn't have said that. Why did he say that? Quickly, he tried to regain his footing. But his mind was blank. He spoke once more without thinking, one hand reaching up of its own volition to cup Harry's cheek, touch feather-light and delicate. "I wouldn't do this," he said, "if I hated you." He leaned in, pressing his lips to Harry's.

His initial rigid shock thawed quickly. And just like that they were back on the train, alone save for each other, bodies pressed together, Draco's mind a spiral of how much he'd been craving this and how he _loathed_ himself for it.

This was wrong. All wrong, said the voice in his head, over and over and over.

But that voice, persistent as it may have been, was quieter now. Background noise. Soft enough that, when they pulled apart to catch their breath, it was not enough to stop Draco from leaning back in once more a moment later, marveling in the stars and Harry's arms wrapped around him and how this somehow felt _right._


End file.
